


No Rest for the Wicked

by firelord65



Series: Fecky's Whumptober Oneshots [30]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Minor Character Death, Missions Gone Wrong, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:02:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27309628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firelord65/pseuds/firelord65
Summary: Another night, another target.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov
Series: Fecky's Whumptober Oneshots [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950469
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	No Rest for the Wicked

**Author's Note:**

> The final two ficlets, just in time! Had to go back to my Buckynat duo for this one. Do I know where/how in the timeline this fits in? Nope! Do I even know what city that this is set in? Also no! 
> 
> Whumptober Day 30: Now Where Did That Come From? - ~~Wound Reveal~~ | Ignoring an Injury | ~~Internal Organ Injury~~

Natasha studied her mark in increments as she moved up and down the theater aisles. Her cover as an usher was effective in allowing her access to the front and back end, but it also kept her in near constant motion, unable to find a position in the crowded Orchestra section where she wasn't almost immediately interrupted by patrons requesting assistance locating their assigned seating.

She stole her glances in between those trips back and forth, her confidence in her assessment growing with each look. Svetlana had arrived early and been seated by another of the ushers in one of the front boxes. Their retinue of followers looked to be quite small, something that Natasha took some joy in. Probably two were armed - covertly - and the third was the assigned second in case something went wrong during the exchange.

Svetlana was scheduled to meet with an unknown third party for the sale of some relatively benign information. Natasha's handler hadn't specified if it mattered if the sale succeeded. They only cared that the target didn't return to her home country after this evening. It was inconsequential to the Red Room if this particular handoff occurred.

That gave Natasha some flexibility which was a welcomed change from her training assignments. After finally achieving the title of Black Widow, Natasha had been given more leniency to go along with the higher expectations. She had even been allowed to call on backup for this assignment.

Watching the back door from their makeshift command center was James, the Winter Soldier. While initially Natasha had treated the _Soldat's_ presence as evidence of the Red Room's lack of faith in her abilities, now that she had an inch of choice she still trusted that he would be able to assist if anything went sideways. There was, after all, a difference between being overseen by the man and by working side by side with him.

The flood of people ebbed and the lamps along the walls dimmed. Above the crowd the high chandeliers slowly followed suit until the only light in the theater came from the stage and the beams streaming in from the lobby. The head usher gestured for Natasha to come off the floor, an unexpected but not unwelcome change.

"Yes?" Natasha whispered when they reached the doorframe. On stage the first scene was already rolling into motion.

"Someone needs to clean up the lavatory. It seems one of the little _messieurs_ had an incident," the head usher explained. "That task goes to new folk first, and that's you today, _ma ami_." He smirked as he pointed towards whichever room apparently needed attention.

Natasha plastered a blithe expression on her face and nodded. She most certainly would _not_ be cleaning up anyone else's filth today, but this did make her plan much easier. She had expected to need a ploy to get off of the main floor and up to the viewing boxes above.

" _Tres bien_ ," he said with a final clap on her shoulder, considering the matter successfully handed off to a faceless subordinate. He ducked back into the theater as Natasha closed the door between them. Natasha moved smoothly past the cleaning closet and the offending lavatory to ascend the staircase up to the next level. The lobby here was equally deserted, all remaining stragglers having been escorted in by the rest of Natasha's compatriots.

Natasha stepped purposefully to the ornate doors that blocked off each individual box. She silently counted back from the front until she found her target. Her hand rested on the handle as she pulled a small pistol from the inside of her vest. It only held six shots and was low power at that, but she only needed one to aim true to take out Svetlana The play that was ongoing wasn't as loud or busy as she would have hoped to cover up the disturbance, but she could-

The handle under her hand twisted, and Natasha jerked backwards. She tucked the pistol behind her leg. The door swung open roughly. If she had been a breath slower, it would have slammed into her face with full force.

"I don't care what she says," her mark shouted as she stalked out of the box seating. "We can't be expected to accept a change of location at the last minute. We have been pushed around enough as it is. We are leaving, Stephan."

Natasha was thankful for the door that was now blocking her at least partially from view as her target strode away. Trailing behind was the rather mousy looking figure that Natasha had clocked to be her second followed next by the pair of security. They had their hands stuffed conspicuously into their suit coats. What next? Dark glasses at night?

The second, Stephan apparently, tottered after her with an animated wave of his hands. "So we're just blowing off three quarters of a million because you don't want to walk across the street?" he said sharply. Natasha lifted an eyebrow. Maybe she would let the exchange go through after all. Coming back with a stack of cash certainly couldn't _hurt_ the Red Room. Though it would complicate things and this was already falling out of place. Svetlana had been neatly contained when they were only in the theater. If they were moving now - apparently _not_ to make the meeting - then that cut down Natasha's window of opportunity to extremely fine margins. There was a plane waiting on the tarmac to leave in mere hours to take Natasha's target back to safety.

"That wasn't the agreement, Stephan," Svetlana snarled over her shoulder.

Letting them leave was unacceptable. Natasha strode after them, pressing a hand to the closest bodyguard's back. " _Excusez-moi_ ," she interrupted. He twisted to look at her. The rest of the trio paused, stunned as Natasha pressed the snub nose of her pistol to the man's chest and squeezed off two shots.

Blood sprayed out from the exit wounds and back at Natasha's face. She furrowed her brow and threw herself down to avoid the second guard's blind fire in response. The floor exploded in a shower of wooden fragments with each shot that trailed after Natasha's footsteps. That was about when the screaming started, from Svetlana, her crony, and the now alerted crowd inside of the theater.

"Go!" the bodyguard snarled over his shoulder, pausing his retaliation to reload. Natasha threw herself behind the closest solid piece of cover - a marble bar - and scooted along to the opposite end. Her target was halfway down the stairs now, her guard scuttling backwards as he continued to lay down fire in random bursts. When he reached the top of the stairs, he turned and slid along the banister in an attempt to keep up with his charge. Natasha remained pinned behind the bar, counting the number of shots until once more there was the telling pause of reloading.

That was when she sprang out. Taking two or three steps at a time, Natasha fought to retake the lost distance between herself and the target. She slammed bodily into the guard and knocked him over the banister down the remaining distance to the basement. She didn't have time to verify if he was down and out. Ahead of her, Svetlana and Stephan were running full tilt through the quickly filling lobby towards the back exit.

Natasha raised her pistol and snapped off two more precious shots. "Stay inside!" she roared as plaster from the ceiling above crumbled down onto her and the stairs. Confronted with the sight of an angry gunman, the chaos only deepened as people now fought with the rest of the crowd to return into the theater.

She was losing control of the situation. She should have been quicker to take down both guards and not let the target get so far ahead. Natasha shoved through the crowd feeling each second slipping through her fingers. One tiny boon was that the target was not heading to the front door; just as Natasha had thought, they were heading instead to the alleyway that ran along the western side of the theater where a large sedan had been idling for most of the evening.

The path to get there was indirect, however, and it looked like the target was sticking to the rat's nest of hallways to get there. Natasha ducked into the front office and scrambled through the clusters of desks that blocked her from the opposing door. Another room linked to this one before Natasha spilled out into the small antechamber of the alleyway entrance.

Stephan collided headfirst into Natasha's shoulder, his suitcase tumbling to the ground. Natasha shoved him away, her hand reaching out to grip the open air that had just contained her target. "Run, Svetlana!" Stephan bellowed. Natasha huffed and tried to reassess where they were in relation to the sedan's position she had noted previously.

That was when she felt a sharp bite between her shoulder blades. Snarling, Natasha rounded on Stephan and fired her last two shots, dropping the man instantly. Her free hand scrabbled at her back, coming away from the wound with a jerk. She was bleeding and the knife was out. There wasn't time to assess any further than that. Natasha tried to roll her shoulders and winced painfully as her left arm only partially responded.

An thrummed in the alleyway, revving harshly before the sound of squealing tires joined it. Her target. Natasha stumbled out into the alley and watched as the sedan thundered to the end of the alley and threw itself into traffic without pausing.

Svetlana was getting away.

There wasn't time for self pity nor for concern about whether this would stay under wraps. The whine of sirens from further in the city answered her unvoiced question. Gunfire at a public theater would not go unnoticed nor uninvestigated.

Headlights warned her to step back as a second car roared down the alleyway to jerk to a stop by her. Natasha yanked open the door and threw herself inside. "That bad?" James commented when she fumbled twice to close the passenger door behind her.

"That bad," she replied sharply.

He was already out the alley, ready to continue the pursuit. Natasha reached over and pressed a bloody hand over his on the steering wheel. "Wait," she panted. She had to clear her throat before she could make the conscious effort to speak for more than one or two words at a time. Her back was screaming for attention that she refused to give it.

"We know where they have to go. Let's play this smart." The sirens edged closer prompting another wince from Natasha. "Smarter," she corrected.

James' thumb rapped on the steering wheel as he considered it. He jutted his chin at her hand which still rested on his. "Yours or theirs?" he asked. He moved the car into traffic but not at the breakneck pace that their target had. They would blend into the nighttime bustle of the city while working their way to the outskirts where the airport was situated.

"Theirs," Natasha replied. It was only half a lie. Some of it was from the first gunshots and maybe even from Stephan as well. She didn't want James to be focused on her. This had turned into a mess, one that needed to be dealt with properly with caution and finesse, not reactionary concern.

She settled into the passenger's seat, ignoring the way that her back twinged with each time that James braked or turned. Her hand returned to her lap as she swapped her snub nose pistol for something with a bit more punch and a bit more ammunition. This job wasn't over yet.


End file.
